


Motivation

by Goober



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Junkenstein's Revenge, Love/Hate, Orgasm Denial, Vaginal Fingering, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goober/pseuds/Goober
Summary: Moira curls her fingers around Angela’s neck, not squeezing, index finger tapping lightly against a sensitive point on the witch’s skin. “If only they knew how easy it was to get you to roll over.”





	Motivation

**Author's Note:**

> Look me in the eyes and tell me Moira's not going to be the next enemy for the Halloween Event. Look at her.

“Licking your wounds, Angela?”

Angela grimaces, shifting her gaze from her reflection to the figure in the doorway behind her. With one hand covering the wound in her side she turns on her heel, facing her accomplice fully.

Moira stalks forward, her every step echoed by the click of her heels into the wood floor of the castle. Moonlight carves Moira’s already sharp features, a wicked glint in her mismatched eyes as she focuses on Angela’s face. She stands too close, and it would be unnerving if Angela wasn’t practically trained to expect it, lazily dragging her long nails along the blonde’s jaw.

“I would have thought the archer would be a better shot,” Moira hums, pressing her free hand over the one on Angela’s wound until the witch hisses. “You were too quick for him, this time.” There’s something left unsaid, but Angela can hear it clearly in the silence;  _ What a shame _ .

This dance of theirs is intimate, fueled by mutual contempt and admiration over each other’s abilities. A grandiose game of who is better than the other, who is really in control. It isn’t love, it isn’t hatred — it’s competition, it’s only competition. Or so Angela tells herself.

Angela brushes away Moira’s hand, reaching forward and wiping the blood from her own palm against the Sorceress’ robes. “Witches don’t die that easily.” She strides past Moira towards her bed, reaching for her staff to knit her skin back together like she has with so many other wounds.

The heroes sleeping in the courtyard below, using the small respite from the horde of Zomnics to regain their strength, are not the first to test her. But they are the sturdiest thus far; two nights and nothing has broken them yet. She did take momentary glee in the hesitation from the soldier upon seeing the Reaper.

Angela thinks she might miss them when they fall to the waves of her thrall’s creations.

Before her hand can wrap around the staff’s handle she’s spun around by her shoulders and shoved down onto the bed. Angela’s breath leaves her as she falls, prone with her stomach exposed, but the press of a knee between her thighs relaxes her. She stares up at Moira as the sorceress leans over her, the woman’s nails digging into her shoulders as she pins Angela easily. As if she were nothing more than an unruly pet.

“Allow me.”

Moira cups her face with one hand, commanding Angela’s attention with her intense gaze. They don’t break eye contact as the sorceress runs the pads of her fingers down Angela’s front with her free hand. Angela, more aware now of her current state, is thankful she made the decision to dress down to check out her wound.

Moira’s fingers leave goosebumps along her skin, until she pauses in her descent to play with the strap of Angela’s bra, dragging her nails across the material cupping the witch’s breasts. As the sharp end of Moira’s nail brushes against Angela’s nipple she grins as Angela’s breath hitches.

She doesn’t linger long, smirking as Angela shifts to try and follow her fingers as Moira moves them down lower, until they stop at her abdomen and trace circles around the wound in Angela’s side. Angela took care of most of it, removing the arrow had been painful, but not impossible. When Moira’s eyes leave her Angela tilts her head to look down, watching. A brilliant, glowing light emits from a small orb in Moira’s palm, glistening gold and radiating warmth from its core. Angela watches as the orb hovers over her skin, making her shiver at the sensation of her skin knitting back together, until nothing is left but a smooth pink line that will fade with time.

When she looks back up at Moira she’s given no warning when the sorceress leans forward and presses their lips together. It takes her breath, the kiss immediately turning passionate as the magicians fight for superiority. Nipping, and licking, and pulling at each other’s lips. The hand on Angela’s cheek moves to twine in her blonde hair, knocking it from its imperfect bun.

As they break apart for breath Angela whines, needy and searching. Moira’s chuckle warms her chest, followed by a shudder at the knee between her thighs, nudging just below her clothed clit.

“You should be planning for the next wave, should be getting things in order to wipe out our unwanted guests.” Moira hums. “You’ve accomplished nothing, you’ve allowed them to live this long. And yet you still think you deserve a reward?”

“Yes,” Angela breathes. She moves her hips up, trying to angle Moira’s kneecap against her clit, but the woman moves her knee lower, dragging it along her slit. “Please.”

“Begging already? You really are needy for it.” The hand in Angela’s hair is removed, the palm quickly placed against Angela’s throat. Moira curls her fingers around Angela’s neck, not squeezing, index finger tapping lightly against a sensitive point on the witch’s skin. “If only they knew how easy it was to get you to roll over.”

With a warning squeeze Moira’s hand drags down Angela’s front again, slipping down her side and behind her back when Angela arches off the bed. She unsnaps the clasps of her bra, tearing it from the witch and dropping it to the side.

Moira’s back bends as she presses kisses down Angela’s sternum, and Angela’s mouth dries at the sight, muscles twitching beneath her counterpart’s lips. With her eyes closed Moira looks peaceful, worshipping the witch’s body by peppering kisses and dragging her teeth across her chest.

When Moira’s lips close around a perked nipple Angela gasps, hips bucking as Moira sinks her teeth gently into the pink flesh. Her tongue swirls over the hurt left over, sucking at it lightly. Moira looks unphased, but Angela can feel her excitement in the way the sorceress pinches and rolls her other nipple between her finger and thumb.

“Moira,” Angela whines when Moira pulls off her nipple with a wet pop. She squirms, shivering under Moira’s wandering hands when she moves to give the other nipple the same treatment. The wetness between her thighs grows and she shifts uncomfortably to stop her underwear from sticking to her labia.

Moira continues her descent down Angela’s body, sucking on her stomach, nipping over the still sensitive scar on her abdomen. Her nails rake down Angela’s sides, hard enough to leave little red lines, but not enough to break skin. This time.

Angela makes a strangled noise as she watches Moira kneel between her legs, spreading her thighs farther apart by forceful hands that grip and massage the meat of her thighs. Her eyes close as Moira leans in, breathing hot against her clothed pussy. Angela squirms as she feels Moira’s tongue swipe up the length of her underwear, gathering the wetness pooling there and spreading it.

“Moira, please.”

She earns a pleased hum in response, before Moira sucks hard on her inner thigh, making her buck away. Moira lays an arm across her lower abdomen, pinning Angela into place while her fingers bunch up her underwear. Moira drags it down her thighs roughly, the small bit of lace curling around the edges scraping against Angela’s skin until she shivers.

Angela kicks the underwear from her ankles, and Moira laughs. “So eager, little angel. It must be hard to concentrate on your mission while you’re so needy.” The arm across her body releases, and Angela is dragged forward until her hips are nearly off the bed, forcing her to awkwardly wrap a leg around Moira’s shoulders. “Good thing I’m here.”

Before Angela can snap the witty reply on her tongue back it’s lost to a loud moan as Moira’s tongue circles around the hood of her clit. Her thighs tense as Moira licks stripes between her folds, spreading the wetness from her hole around evenly.

The room is filled with the slick sounds of Moira’s mouth on her, sucking and nipping and licking, pulling Angela’s labia into her mouth and teething at it gently. Angela’s breathing hitches and comes in sharp panting gasps, body shaking and twitching and tensing as waves of pleasure ride up her spine.

She forgets, for a moment, that they’re not the only ones in this castle. That how loud she’s being is definitely echoing off the old stone walls and down the hall, possibly down into the courtyard below.

She loves it.

Angela’s thighs clench and Moira laughs into her, the vibrations running up her spine. Without anything to do with her hands she curls them into Moira’s thick hair, pulling on the red locks with every motion of the woman’s tongue.

“Fuck,  _ yes _ ,” Angela groans when she feels the familiar scrape of Moira’s nails at her hole, lightly scratching at her folds. “Please, fucking—   _ please _ .”

Another laugh, more vibrations, this time in tandem with two cold fingers sliding easily into her. Angela’s hips buck, thighs spreading wider as she breathes and stretches around Moira’s fingers. The pads curl up in a gesture, lightly pushing along her walls. Moira’s fingers make her shiver, the cool night air rushing over her warm body.

“ _ Bitte _ ,” Angela begs, moving her hips to encourage Moira. “Beweg dich,  _ Moira _ !” Her whine is caught in her chest as Moira pumps her fingers in and out of her body, slowly at first, picking up a pace that rivals the roving of her tongue.

It’s nearly over when Moira finally sucks Angela’s clit into her mouth, the witch caught between crying out and biting into her hand to muffle the noise. The heat that had been building up in her stomach grows, almost boils over. It’s overwhelming, she’s on the edge.

“Moira, I’m close. Ja,  _ Liebling— _ ”

Suddenly it’s over.

Moira removes her mouth with a wet pop, fingers pulling from the clutch of Angela’s body. The edge falls away, and the high that had been building starts to fade out agonizingly slow. When Angela practically snarls and pulls her hand from Moira’s hair to reach down for her clit Moira grabs her wrist tight, yanking it away from her body.

“Oh no,  _ Liebling _ ,” on Moira’s tongue the word is slightly butchered, but it adds a chilling effect to the term of endearment. “You have a job to do. You’ve accomplished nothing yet, remember?”

Moira pops her fingers into her mouth, tongue dragging over the slick sticking to them, before she stands easily, and wipes the spit along Angela’s stomach.

“When you win, you can come.”

“Bitch,” Angela snaps, pushing up on her elbows, legs still slightly shaking. “You’re cruel.”

“I know,” Moira smirks, lips pulling around her teeth. She cups Angela’s cheek with a passive hand. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bitte - Please  
> Beweg dich - Move  
> Liebling - Love  
> 


End file.
